


Burn In The Flames

by larrymylove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Making Up, Storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 16:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7181081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larrymylove/pseuds/larrymylove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>We were a perfect match, darling; but a perfect match always burns</em>
</p>
<p>
Harry and Louis are separated when a storm hits, trapping the two of them together for the first time in months. A story of rekindling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn In The Flames

**Author's Note:**

> i couldn't sleep last night, and this is the product of that.

Harry’s stomach felt as though it was filled with lead as the cab pulled up through the rot iron gates. Everything looked so familiar, and for some reason, that saddened him even more. He hadn’t known what he’d been expecting really. Maybe ivy growing over the red bricks or weeds taking over the rose garden. But the house stood perfectly still, perfectly manicured, as it’d looked when Harry had left three months ago - as if it’d been trapped in time. As if none of the events of the last three months had even taken place. It was as if Harry could walk up the cement steps to the front door, put his key in the latch, open the door, and be hurdled against the nearest wall by the weight of a happy, giggling boy - eager to kiss, eager to love, eager to make up for the lost time. 

But Harry knew no one would be waiting inside for him. He’d go up the steps, unlatch the door, and stand in the entryway of the house completely alone. Isolated just has he had been for the last three months. He wished he could have stayed in LA. Not that LA had been much better. It wasn’t a cure to the constant pangs in his chest - as if a jellyfish had hugged his heart in it’s burning, translucent, lace nematocysts. He hadn’t really expected it to be in the first place. No, Harry had just needed to get away. LA wasn’t going to be a cure, but it far away and the closet in the LA house didn’t smell of the cologne Louis had spilled on the carpet there last year. And the LA house didn’t have the Christmas photos on the mantel. And the LA house didn’t have their stupid initials carved into the entryway wall - placed there the day they’d moved in almost ten years ago. Harry shivered at the memory of Louis pulling a knife from his pocket and flicking the blade open. And Harry had stood over his shoulder, watching Louis leave an H and L shaped scars into the woodwork.

“There. Now it’s ours forever!” Louis had announced, pressing a bright, burning kiss to Harry’s cheek that set his face ablaze as he dimpled, running his fingers over the scarred wood.

_Theirs forever._

Who could ever guess that forever would come three months ago. But if Harry was honest, it’d stopped being theirs long before then. He couldn’t exactly point to a specific date on a calendar, mark it with a big X or take a sharpie and black-out the little respective box. He’d been blind at the time, and Louis packing his suitcase felt like the lash of a thousand whips. Looking back now, it really shouldn’t have been so surprising. Afterall, Louis had stayed more often at Zayn’s than not. And Harry had made more and more trips to LA. They’d seen each other less and less. And when they would see each other, they eventually stopped pretending to have missed each other while they were away. 

“Here you are, Mr. Styles,” the cab driver said, and Harry realized then that they were parked outside the house. He’d have to abandon the safety of the cab and face the monsters inside. As a little kid, Harry had feared big, loud things that hid under beds and gnashed their teeth and had claws. He never imagined monsters could come in the shape of silence.

“Right,” Harry nodded, smiling tightly at the reflection of the cab driver in the mirror. He reached into his coat pocket for his wallet and paid the fare. The cab driver came around and helped Harry carry his luggage up to the front door. Harry smiled tightly again, feeling a boulder wedge into his throat.

“Have a good night, Mr. Styles,” the cab driver smiled, tipping his cap.

“Thank you. You as well,” Harry said, glancing up at the darkening sky, “Drive safely, sir.”

“Always.”

Harry watched the cab disappear down the drive and out the iron gates. Taking a deep breath, he reached into his pocket for the house key. The wind was starting to pick up, a violent sort of wind that caused a shiver to run through your bones. Harry tightened the coat around himself as he struggled to get the key into the lock. There was something poetic about coming home to a storm. 

Harry pushed the front door open, feeling himself being tossed inside along with a gust of leaves and dusty debris from the outside. He pulled his luggage inside and quickly shut the door before much more mess could be swept inside. Sighing, he pushed his curls back with the flat of his hand, trying to tame them. He took a deep breath and inspected the damage. Leaves and a good amount of dirt littered the entryway. At least he’d gotten in safe and sound prior to the sky breaking. At least his plane had been able to land.

Harry’s eyes wandered to the wall where the initials were carved, but he pulled his eyes away and picked up his luggage, heading towards the staircase. Would paint cover up something carved into wood? Would he even want it covered, gone forever? Harry could lie to himself and say he wanted it completely erased forever and ever. But he knew that wasn’t true. Those letters were a remaining part of Louis inside the London home. He’d taken all his essentials when he’d moved out - well, most of his essentials. Harry supposed now that he was back from LA, he’d have to go about getting a storage unit for the items Louis hadn’t taken with him. It was a thought he didn’t like entertaining for long. The house was quiet, too quiet. It made the inside of Harry’s ears itch. He hated the silence. With Louis, there was always loud, loud, loudness. Everything made a noise. The house practically buzzed with the sounds of laughter and giggles and playful shouting. Now, nothing.

Harry was halfway up the stairs when, as if on cue, a loud crash resounded from the kitchen. He froze. The hairs of the back of his neck stood on end and the blood in his veins turned to ice. Someone was in the house. He wasn’t alone and there was someone in his kitchen. How, he didn’t know. They had enough security to not have to worry about this kind of bullshit. But apparently, security hadn’t gone a good enough job. Because now there was someone in Harry’s kitchen. Harry set his suitcase down, and carefully - quietly - descended the stairs. He tiptoed towards the entryway where a pail of umbrellas sat next to the door. He grabbed an umbrella - the one Louis had referred to as the Mary Poppins Umbrella because of the bird handel - and tiptoed towards the kitchen, brandishing his makeshift weapon in a tight grip. 

The kitchen light was on, and the fridge door was hanging open. There was a person peering into the fridge and Harry wielded the umbrella higher, letting out a scream as he came at the person in the fridge. The person screamed as well, appearing to nearly jump out of his own flesh, before turning sharply and glaring at Harry. Harry would recognize those cold, icy blue eyes anywhere. He lowered the umbrella, if only slightly.

“Louis? What the fuck?”

“What the fuck _do you mean_ what the fuck?” Louis demanded, closing the door of the fridge and folding his arms over his chest, “Where you really going to impale me with the Mary Poppins Umbrella, Harold?”

A loud clap of thunder shook the walls of the house, causing both Harry and Louis to jump where they stood.

“It was the closest thing I could get my hands on,” Harry explained, “Why are you even here?”

“Why are _you_ even here? You’re supposed to be in LA.”

“Not forever. Besides, we agreed the London home would be mine. You moved out. I saw you take your suitcase and go. So care to explain what you’re doing here in my house?” 

Louis leaned back against the fridge, “Zayn snores.”

“Okay?”

“And the smell of spray paint was getting to me.”

“Okay? None of this is explaining why you are here.”

“You’re supposed to be in LA,” Louis huffed, looking away sourly.

“Still not explaining why you’re here,” Harry said flatly, growing more irritated by the second.

“You weren’t supposed to be here. I...I came over about a week ago because I thought you were going to be in LA for awhile longer. I just...I had to get out of Zayn’s place, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go, okay? I thought it’d be a bit silly to get a place just to have to leave when we go on tour next month. I thought I could tough it out at Zayn’s until tour, and look for my own place when we get back. But I just...I couldn’t deal with it. Everything smells like weed and paint and pizza and...I just needed away from it. I needed to come…” Louis winced, the word ‘home’ hanging heavily in the air. Louis quickly regained his composure, spitting the words out as if they were a bad taste in his mouth as he said, “ _You weren’t supposed to be here._ ”

“Well I am here. And seeing as how we agreed this would be my home, I have a right to be here. You, on the other hand…”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay. I just...I didn’t have anywhere else to go, okay?” Louis tugged at the fringe sweeping low across his forehead and into his eyes, “But you’re here now and so I’ll be going. I just need to get my things and…”

Another loud clap of thunder boomed, this time sparking a flash of lightning and a torrential downpour. Rain splashed heavily against the roof and windows. Harry closed his eyes, dreading what he knew was coming. Dreading the words he knew he was about to say.

“You can’t go out in this.”

“I can,” Louis pushed himself off from the fridge and walked towards the french doors leading out from the kitchen to the patio. He winced as he looked at the scene outside.

“Did you drive here?”

“Yeah. My car’s in the garage, thank God,” Louis sighed, “It should die down soon.”

“I don’t think so. It’s bad, Louis. I don’t see this letting up anytime soon.”

“Well,” Louis’ shoulders heaved a little before he straightened and turned back to face Harry, “Not like I’ve never driven in a storm before.”

“Louis, I’m not letting you go out in this.”

“You’re not _letting_ me go out in this?” Louis folded his arms over his chest, raising a brow in his typical fighting stance. Harry had seen that stance more often than not leading up to the final falling out. He was exhausted of that stance.

“No, I’m not,” he said flatly.

“And how are you going to stop me?”

Harry sighed, “Louis, just stay. The weather isn’t safe to head out in. You been here a week? Let me guess, you made yourself at home in the master bedroom, right? Well just stay tonight. Keep your shit in the bedroom and tomorrow once the weather is all clear, you can pack up and be on your way. I’ll take the guest room tonight. Just...don’t be stupid about this.”

“So I’m stupid now?”

Harry wanted to slap him, “No. You aren’t being stupid. You just...you aren’t _thinking_.”

“How’s that any better? I know what I’m doing, H. I can drive myself back over to Zayn’s perfectly fine. It’s just water. I don’t know what thoughts you have of me in that ginormous head of yours, but I can assure you, I’m no witch and I will not magically melt away if I get a bit wet.”

Harry felt his hands ball into fists at his sides, nails creating crescent moons into his palms. Harry took a breath before saying in the most commanding voice he could muster at the moment, “Stay.”

Louis opened his mouth as if to argue, but shut it quickly.

“It’s not a big deal,” Harry said, “I’ll be in the guest room. You’ll be in the master. Won’t be any different than it’d been the last time you were here.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what? Be honest?”

“Look,” Louis stepped forward, “If you do that shit, H, I’m gone. Tonight, in this rain.”

“So I suppose you don’t care about your own safety then,” Harry shook his head, frustratedly, “Don’t even care if you hydroplane and get in a crash then?”

“Not really.”

Louis’ answer was like a slap to the face. There was no way Louis meant that. He was just being dramatic, right? Dramatic Louis, same as always. Just trying to get a rise out of Harry. He surely didn’t mean that. There was no way.

“Louis…”

“It’s whatever,” Louis shrugged, pushing past Harry and making his way towards the entryway.

“No. No, it’s not whatever, Louis,” Harry followed hot on his heels, “What did you mean by that?”

“Nothing. Okay? Nothing. I was just talking shit. It’s not that important.”

“Louis, stop,” Harry followed Louis up the stairs to their second story, “What did you mean by that?”

“Harry, I told you - nothing! Now stop following me like a fucking puppy! I’m going to just stay in the master bedroom. You won’t even have to see me. I’ll just stay out of your hair and out of your way, and I hope you’ll extend me the same courtesy.” Just as he stopped right outside the door of the master bedroom, Louis’ stomach let out a deep growl.

“You were in the middle of fixing a snack before I um...I charged at you.”

“Yeah? So? Suddenly not hungry anymore.”

“You’re a better liar than your stomach, I’ll give you that,” Harry quirked a brow, “Let’s just...let’s go back downstairs and I’ll fix us some dinner. We can put on the telly and just watch something and we won’t even have to talk to each other. But you need to eat, Lou.”

“ ‘m fine,” Louis huffed just as his stomach growled again.

“You aren’t. When was the last time you ate like an actual meal?”

Louis flicked his gaze from Harry as he mumbled, “I don’t remember.”

“Well then, that settles it. I’m making us dinner. Now c’mon. You can help.”

Harry was expecting an argument as he moved to descend the stairs, but the only sounds that came from Louis was the sound of his bare feet on the stairs behind Harry. Harry tried not to smile, tried not to see it as a win. But really, he couldn’t remember the last time he and Louis and spent a moment together that didn’t include a fight. It’d be refreshing not to be at each other’s throats. And if he was honest, Harry was glad for the storm - glad for a reason to make Louis stay. They had been separated for a lot longer than the time of the split. The times when they’d been the most distant were the times when they’d been living under this roof. It made something slither through Harry - a little thought that said, ‘if only you’d tried.’ 

The thing was, Harry thought he’d been trying. Now, looking back on it all, he knew that was a lie. He let Louis slip through his fingers just as easily as Louis let himself slip through his fingers. No one person was to blame in this. Harry was just as guilty. He knew this. He knew the times where Louis just needed to be held, to be comforted, and Harry had turned away with a cold, hard look fixed on his face. He knew there’d been way too many times when Louis had picked at him, trying to get him to cave. He’d started fights, spitting hurtful words at Harry, hoping they’d make impact and Harry would grab him up his arms and just hold him. Ten years together now, Harry knew how Louis worked. That a “fuck you” more often than not meant, “hold me.” That an “I hate you” “never fucking let me go.”

“What would you like for dinner?” Harry asked as they headed into the kitchen.

“Well considering you don’t have shit…”

“I’ve been gone! What have you been making due with for the last week?”

“Cereal.”

“Lou. That cereal’s probably long past expired.”

“So?”

“God. Okay. Well, let me just see what we can scrounge up, okay?” Harry opened the pantry and peered inside. Louis had been right, things were pretty bare. He hadn’t bothered to do any shopping between Louis leaving, and then him leaving as well. There was peanut butter, and several packs of instant noodles. Harry opened the fridge and found a bottle of soy sauce shoved in the back, next to rice wine vinegar.

“I know what we’re making!”

“What’s that?”

“Pad thai. Well...our version of pad thai that’ll have to suffice for tonight. Grab a pot and fill it with water, please. Put it on to boil, and I’ll get started on the sauce.”

“Right,” Louis narrowed his eyes, but did as Harry had said.

It felt nice - working in the kitchen with Louis by his side. It almost felt like the better times, when they would spend evenings cooking together. Louis would always be perched on the counter, sticking his fingers in everything to taste. And Harry would be batting him away, scolding him with a smile on his face. That had been when things had actually been good - back before they just weren’t. Back before Louis ate cereal from a box most nights, and Harry would settle for two-day-old takeaway.

“So,” Harry said, adding several spoons of peanut butter to a sauce pan, “How’s Zayn?”

“He’s good, yeah,” Louis nodded, “Enjoying the break. Been doing lots of painting, hence everything reeking of spray paint.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not so bad,” Harry let a small smile play on his lips as he stirred the makings of the sauce together on the burner.

“H, my underwear should not smell like spray paint. Just saying.”

It startled a giggle from Harry. He turned and Louis was smiling softly as he stirred the noodles in their pot. For a moment, Harry let himself forget that they were no longer together, that they most likely hated each other, and had gone their separate ways. Instead, he let himself imagine that they were back before shit had hit the fan. Back when things were good. When they laughed together and made silly comments to each other just to make the other smile. Harry was quite certain he’d sell his own soul to go back to those times. What he wouldn’t give for just a few seconds of that again.

“The noodles are boiling,” Louis said suddenly.

“Okay. Drain them and then I’ll mix in the sauce.”

“Zayn’s a bit worried,” Louis said, lifting the pot carefully from the stove and carrying it to the sink, “I mean, we do go on tour in a month, H.”

“I know,” Harry focused on stirring his sauce, not really wanting to have this conversation right now.

“And he’s just a bit worried about how our recent...you know...is going to affect things as a group. As um...as a unit.”

Harry sighed, gripping the spoon tightly in his hand, “I know, Lou. It won’t be easy, but I mean, we are professionals. We can get through this. Besides, for so long they tried to separate us. We were made to not interact much on stage and in the public view. We can go back to that maybe. Just little bits here and there, just enough. We don’t have to be super close. We’ll figure it out. We’ll adjust. And we’ll be professional first and foremost. This isn’t just about us, it’s about the other boys too. We’ll be professional for them.”

“Right,” Louis placed the pot back on the stove, “Right. We can um...we can be professional.”

“You tell Zayn that he has nothing to worry about, okay,” Harry stirred in the sauce, wishing he felt as confident as he was trying to come across. Really, standing there with Louis peering over his shoulder into the pot, feeling his breath against his cheek, Harry felt like a statue about to crack and crumble to bits. There was still a little part of him that thought maybe - just maybe - they’d be able to work through this before having to go on the road again. It’d been a stupid hope, but it was one Harry had distracted himself so he wouldn’t have to entertain the thoughts of going back on tour while not being with Louis. Ever since the start, it’d always been the two of them - sharing hotel beds, sneaking out for midnight skinny dips in the pool with a cerulean glow against their skin. It’d been the two of them, draped over each other on the sofas of the tour bus, Louis mouthing against Harry’s neck as Harry tried to focus on a FIFA match against Niall. He didn’t want to think about going on tour being separated from Louis. Louis was an anchor, keeping him grounded when things got to be a lot for him to handle. Louis kept his head level and Louis always made sure that Harry was taken care of and looked after. And even though Liam, Zayn, and Niall would all be there, Harry felt immense loneliness at the thought.

“Pasta’s done,” Harry said, “Get down two bowls for me, please. We’ll take this into the living room and find something good to watch.”

“Kay,” Louis reached up to the cabinet, standing on his tiptoes to reach. Harry wished he didn’t find it as endearing as he always did, “Storm’s still not letting up,” Louis set the bowls down next to Harry, “And that wind is getting worse I think.”

“Well, you can stay here as long as you need to alright? I really don’t want you driving until it’s safe.”

“Yeah,” Louis smiled tightly, taking his bowl and heading into the living room. He sunk down on the couch, resting his feet up on the coffee table. Harry thought about scolding him for it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Louis looked so comfortable, so at home. As if he belonged there. And Harry longed to go to him, to sit beside him, to card his fingers through the fluff of his hair, and say, “You’re home now, baby.” But he couldn’t. Instead, Harry sat on the other end of the couch, reaching for one of the remotes, and flicking on the television.

“This is actually really good,” Louis said, picking at his noodles in his bowl.

“I’m glad you like it,” Harry tried to bite down on his smile as he pulled up the menu on the TV and began to scroll through, “It’s not much, but at least it’s a hot meal, right?”

“Better than cold pizza from Zayn’s fridge.”

“Never thought I’d hear _you_ turn down cold pizza, Lou.”

Louis chuckled, “I never had to live off it for a few weeks straight. Missed your hot meals,” he said, and then froze as if realizing what he’d let slip. Harry straightened a bit, feeling the blood in his veins like ice.

“Well, I’ve missed making you hot meals,” Harry admitted, since they were apparently sharing.

“H…”

“Sorry,” Harry clicked on the cooking channel for the time being, just to have something to watch, just to have something to distract his thoughts, “I just...it’s true. You should know it’s true.”

“You stopped making hot meals long before I left.”

“You stopped wanting me to make hot meals long before you left.”

Louis sighed, setting the bowl down in front of him on the coffee table. He turned to face Harry, something unreadable in his eyes. Harry hated that. Hated that he used to be able to read Louis like an open book, and now it was as if Louis was a complete stranger sitting before him. It made his heart heave heavily  inside his chest - an anvil between his ribs.

“What are we doing, Harry?” Louis asked.

“I-I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean this,” Louis waved his hand away, “What are we doing?”

“Well,” Harry took a shaky breath, “We’re having dinner together, and watching television. Then you’re going to stay until the storm clears out. That’s what we’re doing.”

“That’s not what I mean, H and you know it. Harry...I never...wanted…”

“You never wanted what?” Harry felt his cheeks blaze as he turned to face Louis, “You were the one who walked out first? You were the one who packed your bags and said that the house was mine and that you couldn’t do this anymore. You didn’t even give me a second to try to talk to you. You didn’t even give me a second to say goodbye. You were just...gone. And I couldn’t take it, Louis. I couldn’t take being in this house without you. So I caught the next flight I could to LA. I just needed to be away from here, away from you. Away from all the fucking memories that seem to haunt this place like ghosts. I come back tonight and the first thing I see is our initials in the wall. You’re everywhere Louis. I just couldn’t be here with you _clinging_ to the air.”

“Like I’m a fungus, is that it, H? I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t be here, but maybe that’s how I felt too? Maybe that feeling is the exact reason I left in the first place. And if you pulled your head out of your arse, you would look around and notice how little I actually took with me. One suitcase, H. That’s all I packed. Did you ever ask yourself why? No. You just got on a plane and took off for three months. _Three months_. And I didn’t even hear from you _once_. I had to hear from Niall that you were in even LA. And I kept thinking that you’d come back, but you never did. For three months, H, you were just gone. And I saw your posts on Instagram...about how happy you were. Posts of brightly colored drinks on balcony tables. Posts of sunsets and palm trees. And you seemed happy. And I just...I guess I just got in my head that you weren’t coming back. At least not anytime soon. So I just figured it’d be fine if I came home for a bit. I never expected you to be back today. I just thought I could come here and have some time to just...be in my home. I never was going to leave permanently, H. I just needed some time to think. Some time away for a bit. I was always going to come home to you, Haz. Always. But then you were just gone. And I came home to nothing.”

Louis’ words spun in Harry’s head as he tried to pull out bits and pieces of what Louis had said to try to understand what he was saying, “Louis...what do you mean? You were always going to come home?”

“I just needed a bit of time,” Louis ran a hand through his hair, sighing erratically and looking as if this whole conversation was some sort of painful, invasive procedure, “I just needed some time to think and be away for a second. But I was never going to leave. I meant the house was yours in the sense that the house was all yours for the time being. But Harry, I took _one bag_. We own a fucking three story mansion and I took a fucking suitcase and you didn’t find that odd at all? There’s pictures of Doris and Ernest on the fridge still. I was always going to come back, Harry. _You_ were the one that truly left. You packed up and fucked off to LA with who knows who. And you didn’t come home. For three months, _you didn’t come home_.”

“Wait, what are you saying? Are...are you telling me...that we didn’t like...break up?”

“Well not officially,” Louis laughed, a one syllable sound that indicated he found nothing about the situation amusing whatsoever, “We didn’t actually say it in so many words. I was gone and then you were _really_ gone. And that seemed like that. I just assumed you didn’t want me anymore. I assumed you were done with us. But I’m not done with you, H. I don’t want to ever be done with you. I love you, Harry. I love you so much with every bit of me. And these past months have completely broken me up inside. I don’t think...I don’t think I can take this much more. This not knowing. I want you to want me, Harry. I don’t want you to be finished with me.”

“Louis, we’ve been together for ten years. We’re going on our seventh tour together as a band in less than a month. We have so much between us. I was never going to just walk away from that. When you left, I thought you were the one making the choice for us both. I don’t want to be finished with you either. I love you so much. So much that it _hurts_. And I’ve missed you achingly every day since I left. All I could think about in LA was coming home to you. But I figured you were gone, and there was no point coming home to an empty house. I didn’t know that when I came home, I’d have a little burglar ransacking my fridge.”

Louis laughed, a brighter, happier sound. A sound that felt like hope. “So...you don’t want to be broken up?”

Harry felt as though a warm wave of relief was washing over him, “No, Louis. No, never. I want you. All of you, always. I don’t want us to be over. I know we had a rough patch there. And there’s a lot of things we need to work through. But Louis, I don’t want this to be it for us. I just want you, always and forever. I’m home now, Louis. I shouldn’t have left like I did. I should have at least reached out to you when I was in LA. But I’m home now. And you’re home too. And I just...I don’t us to be over, Lou. Never.”

“I thought we’d burned out,” Louis admitted, reaching a hand out to stroke Harry’s cheek, “Zayn said that sometimes people who are perfect matches, they burn bright and fast, and they burn themselves all up. I thought that’s what happened to us, Harry. But I don’t want to be all burned up - burned out. I want to ignite and I want to burn, I want to burn with you.”

Harry grabbed Louis in his arms, holding him as he’d only dreamed of for the last weeks, brushing a hand through his hair as he said, “We’ll never burn out, Louis. Please don’t leave. Please stay here. Please stay tonight, and tomorrow night, and the next night. We’re home, Louis. We’ve finally come home.”

That night, they set a fire in their bed and laid in the heat until the sun began to dry the rain away. The storm had passed, and they were ablaze.

 


End file.
